


First Day

by Bil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Good Albus Dumbledore, Quidditch fanatic Minerva McGonagall, Quidditch is the cure for all ills, human Dumbledore, teaching is scary okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bil/pseuds/Bil
Summary: Minerva’s not looking forward to her first day teaching in front of a class full of children. Albus is not entirely helpful. Minerva/Albus friendship or pre-romance.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore/Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All JKR’s. I’m just filling in some details.
> 
> A/N: Dumbledore-friendly zone. Don’t like, don’t read :) 
> 
> This came about because I had to give my first lecture, to paying students no less, and I got given a lot of advice. I’ve forgotten most of it, but I suddenly realised that the situation had fanfiction possibilities. (I have since given many classes and can safely say that public speaking is not one of my fears.)
> 
> I have always preferred a Minerva who met Albus as an adult and therefore tend to write on that assumption.
> 
> Canon Note: According to the HP wiki there’s a heap of backstory known about Minerva McGonagall that I was unaware of; either this has come out of JKR’s interviews etc (which I personally don’t consider canon) or turned up in the last two books (which I have only read once or twice a long time ago). Hence, this story does not follow (apparent) canon; you have been warned!

Albus looked to his left at Hogwarts’ newest professor as Armando finished his ‘welcome back to Hogwarts’ breakfast notices. He smiled and leaned closer. “Just remember, they’re more frightened of you than you are of them.”

Minerva gave him an unamused look. “Thank you for your input, Professor.”

“I’m serious, my dear.” Now she looked sceptical. “Or mostly serious. In truth, it is important to remember that you know more than they do.”

She toyed with her toast, cutting it into ever smaller pieces. “Right at this moment I must admit it doesn’t feel like it.”

He chuckled. “Keep your head up, accept no nonsense, speak slowly, and remember, it doesn’t matter if you get confused in the middle of a sentence, it doesn’t matter if you need to pause to construct your next sentence. They will hardly notice, and the pause is much shorter than you think it is.”

She smiled a little wryly, possibly because he and the other teachers had been plying her with similar advice all weekend. “The trick, therefore, is to remember all this in the middle of teaching a class.”

“You have lectured groups before,” he reminded her.

“Small groups. Of aurors. _Adults_ , who were interested in what I had to say. And that was different; I was trying to keep them alive.”

“And this is even more important.” She frowned at him. “Life and death? Oh, they are important during war, I admit, but this is not war, thank heaven and everything and all in between. We are not here to teach our children to survive, my dear Professor, we are here to teach them to _thrive_.” The notion struck her and chased a little of the pallor from her cheek as he had hoped. Minerva was always at her best when she trusted in the importance of her work. “And what is this nonsense of small groups? I seem to remember a young witch angrily addressing the entire gathered body of the Wizengamot without a hint of fear.”

“The key word in that description,” she said tartly, “is ‘angrily’. When one is angry one forgets to feel fear – indeed, one has no _room_ for fear. Besides which, it was their own fault. How could they attempt to bring you up on charges of murder when you had just finished their war for them and they had no body! Does a murder not require a person to be _murdered_?”

Her defence warmed him but to calm her rather than let her temper rise, he only chuckled. “You must admit that death is the common fate of Dark Lords. And in a time of fear and upheaval my victory, their uncertainty, and my family... history were not a healthy combination.” She sniffed disdainfully. “And at any rate my legal history is not the subject we were discussing.”

“Is it my fault you cannot keep on topic?” she retorted, but she smiled as she did so.

Albus smiled back, remembering her as he had first met her, the scorned Muggleborn who had no reason to trust a man with such rumours about his family. That they could now be such friends, that he had earned her loyalty – it humbled him.

“In fact, I would argue it _is_ on topic,” he renegotiated his position. “If a class gives you trouble, simply imagine them to be the Wizengamot and give them your dirtiest look before carefully subduing them with a few well-chosen words.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear,” she said with the fervency of a prayer.

“I’m sure He is listening. Now eat, please.” He offered her a plate of sausages. She gave it a look of revulsion, but nevertheless took one and replaced her shredded toast. When she began, however, to shred the sausage in its turn, he put his hand over hers. She looked up at him. “Eating,” he said gently, “involves food actually making it into the mouth.”

Though she glowered at him, she began to eat, and by the time breakfast was over he had managed to coax her into eating something approximating a decent breakfast.

“I have always known you to be capable of miracles,” Armando murmured on Albus’s other side, “but I don’t believe I have ever seen one before today.”

He had reckoned without Minerva’s sharp ears, though; she would not insult her superior, of course, but she glared at a trio of noisy students so fiercely that they felt it and fell silent. “He is only teasing,” Albus said, amused.

The glare was turned on him. “In half an hour I have to teach my _first class_. Ever. I am not in the mood to be teased.”

Unlike the students, Albus was unfazed. “Are you ever?” he inquired.

Despite herself, she chuckled a little. “Go away, Dumbledore.”

“Not I. I am going to escort you to your _first class_. Ever.”

“I’m quite sure I can find my way, Albus.”

“And you don’t want me fussing around you like a broody hen and giving you advice you don’t want. I know.”

“Yet you’re still coming.” It was not a question.

“But of course.”

“You are a very annoying man, Albus Dumbledore.”

“I try.”

She rolled her eyes and stood up. “Then if you are coming, come.”

“Who could refuse such a gracious invitation?” He put down his cutlery and stood, giving Armando a nod of farewell and following Minerva’s sweep out the door. “Impressive. Have you been taking lessons from Walpurga Black?” he asked when he caught up with her.

She glared at him again. “Are you doing this on purpose?” she demanded.

“What would that be, my dear Professor?”

“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me. Are you trying to make me annoyed on purpose?”

“And why would I ever do such a thing?” he asked innocently.

“I don’t claim to understand you, Albus.” Her chin came down and a smile lit her eyes.

“Ah, but that is because you don’t know how feline you look when your fur is ruffled. And as to ‘on purpose’, what if I am?”

“I don’t need distracting, Albus. I’m a grown woman, I can face a classroom of children.”

He snorted. “No one, Minerva, can face a classroom full of children without feeling some small urge to run in the opposite direction.”

“Are you trying to reassure me now or to put me off?” she asked, amused.

“No, that was simply telling you the truth. Perhaps I should save that until after your first day.”

“Perhaps you should. At the very least I’ll know firsthand what you’re talking about and be able to commiserate.”

“You will need no commiseration, only congratulation.”

“You can’t know that. Not yet.”

“No, I cannot know the future, it is true. But I know you, Minerva. You do not fail. You do not allow yourself to fail. And so therefore you will succeed.”

“Divination from the great Dumbledore?” It was her turn to snort.

He smiled and shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“That’s what you think,” she said darkly.

“And what if it is?”

“I always knew you were delusional.”

“I? Minerva, can it be you forget you are talking to a winner of the Order of Merlin, First Class?” He said this in his best imitation of the breathless introduction he’d been given in a radio interview the previous year.

“And tell me, Mr Dumbledore,” she retorted immediately as she lifted a tapestry to duck into a ‘secret’ passage, “why do you waste your time teaching in a school when you are obviously made for a much higher destiny?”

“He didn’t say _that_ ,” he protested, laughing.

“Not in so many words.”

He rolled his eyes. “Remind me to never agree to such an interview again.”

“I promise to disown you if you even consider the notion.”

“Very reassuring.”

“Thank you, I do try.” They had reached the Transfiguration corridor now and Minerva stopped outside her door. “And now you can see with your own eyes that I am quite capable of finding my way to my own classroom,” she said dismissively.

“ ‘Begone, foul fiend’?” he suggested with a twinkle.

“If that is what it will take to be rid of you, Albus, do not tempt me to try it.”

“I shall leave you to your class, then.” He paused.

She gave him a look. “If you have any more advice then get it off your chest now,” she ordered.

“Only one more piece,” he said placatingly. “And it is quite a simple piece.”

“Let’s be having it, then.”

“It is merely this: remember to breathe. The rest will come if you can only do that.”

She shook her head, smiling. “For the good it will do me, Albus, I’ll remember.”

“Good.” He kissed her cheek. “For luck. Not that you’ll need it, of course. Enjoy your day.”

“And you yours. Now go! Leave me in peace.”

Albus turned and walked away, passing the first of the students coming to class. Behind him as Minerva unlocked her classroom, he could hear her chanting almost under her breath: “Begone, foul fiend! Return to whence thou came, Back to the abyss that spawned you! Begone, foul fiend, and slay no more; Let travellers wend their ways...”

He smiled.

* * *

Minerva forgot her nerves the instant she clapped her hands together to gain the attention of her first class. There was no time for the anticipated shaking knees, wobbly voice, or blank mind; she was simply too busy for any of that. Once she had their attention and had introduced herself there was so much to tell them, so much to demonstrate – so much to correct – that she was amazed to find the lunch bell ringing and realise she’d made it through her morning’s classes already.

Having already earned – somehow – a reputation for being dangerous to cross (though having caught whispers about ‘aurors’ she suspected Albus had been gleefully spreading rumours again) she found that the students didn’t instantly start packing up at the sound of the lunch bell but rather all froze in what they were doing and looked at her hopefully. That pleased her, for it meant she had their respect (or their fear; close enough) and that meant she had control. In a Transfiguration classroom the teacher needed control.

She gave a thin smile. “Very well. Finish those questions for homework. You may go.”

It always amazed her that no students were ever hurt in those bedlamic stampedes out the door.

Once the students had torn off (without, despite all expectation, injury) Albus came in like a calming breeze in those remarkable blue and pink robes that somehow completely failed to make him look like an fool. “I see you have survived so far,” he smiled.

She put away the last of her lesson plans. “So far.” She smiled. “I know I’m tired, I just don’t feel it.” Instead she felt like she could swim laps of the Black Lake or run to the top of the Astronomy Tower and back.

“Adrenaline.” He smiled too. “It does have its uses, I must admit. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” She followed him regardless, only now realising he had a long black case in his hand. Her eyes narrowed. What did he need _that_ for?

“You will see. Eat.” He pressed a paper bag of Cornish pasties into her hands.

“I’m not hungry.” The nerves that hadn’t been there while she was busy teaching were starting to make up for it now.

“It is lunchtime. You need food. So eat.”

She did as she was bid and found that she was hungry after all. Albus chuckled and handed her a second bag as he turned in a direction away from the Great Hall and against the current of the students streaming off to lunch.

“You need to work off some nervous energy – and take your mind off what has just been happening, not to mention that which is about to occur. So I’ve booked the Quidditch Pitch. Not that anyone usually uses it quite this early in the year anyway, but we shall have it to ourselves nevertheless.

She glanced at the case he was carrying. “So help me, Albus, if you’ve been breaking into my rooms again—”

“I didn’t mean to turn your couch pink!”

“You shouldn’t have been in there in the first place!”

“And I haven’t. Been back in there, I mean. I asked a house elf if she thought it would be acceptable for her to fetch your broom on my behalf. Which she did, when I explained why, but she made me promise fiercely I meant no harm and would do nothing to upset you.”

“Kidnapping me to play Quidditch isn’t upsetting me?”

He stopped in his tracks and made a grand, melodramatic gesture back the way they’d come, wearing an expression of noble matyrdom. “You have always the option to return if you have no wish to join me! I was trying to help.”

Unmoved by these tactics, she eyed him suspiciously. “Very well, we shall try it your way, Albus, but I warn you, one hint that something is up...”

“Your lack of faith wounds me, Minerva,” he told her, but set off again with a bounce in his step.

“It is more than that will wound you if this turns out to be another of your tricks.”

“Such a violent child.” He shook his head mournfully.

“I’ll ‘child’ you, Mr Sweets-and-Toys-and-Pranks.”

“I am simply endeavouring to understand the minds of my students,” he said with the air of a venerable scholar. The very misleading air.

“You need no practice for that,” she said dryly. “You understand them all too well for my peace of mind.”

“I am a schoolteacher; it is to be expected of me.”

“There is a difference,” she pointed out, “between understanding the minds of children and descending to their level.”

“I’m sure there is,” he said, eyes twinkling madly. “Aniseed wheel?” He held a paper bag of the sweets out to her and she rolled her eyes and surrendered to the madness. With Albus it was all too easy to do so.

“Thank you,” she said, and took one.

They reached the Quidditch Pitch and took their brooms from Albus’s case, automatically checking them over with the unthinking caution appropriate to survivors of a war.

“Last one to the north hoop is a flobberworm!” Albus challenged, leaping on his broom and taking off. Minerva was close behind, though, having been on the alert for something of the sort. It occurred to her, as they raced neck and neck for the goal, that she knew Albus a little too well.

The next three-quarters of an hour was spent in a hard-fought game of one-on-one quidditch. They were fairly evenly matched; Minerva had once been voted ‘toughest captain ever’ by her school Quidditch team while Albus, had he had the passion for it, could probably have made it to professional level. This would surprise a large number of people, but in fact it was often the best duellers who made excellent Quidditch players because of their training in speed and agility; if matched to any skill at flying it could be quite a potent combination. And Albus was, if nothing else, an outstanding duellist.

Albus’s timer spell gave a loud hoot to signal the end of play and they both pulled up their brooms to look at the automatic scoreboard that had been following them about like a confused puppy with two masters (Albus, with his repertoire of silly spells and casual casting, could be quite useful to have around). Minerva punched the air in a display of exuberant triumph out of character for her anywhere but on a Quidditch pitch. “Yes! There, Albus, I _told_ you I could beat you three games in a row!”

Albus laughed and dismissed the scoreboard, flying up the few metres that separated them and holding out his hand for her to shake. “I should have known better than to argue with you, Minerva. Very well, our next dinner is on me, as agreed.”

Minerva smiled sweetly. “I never doubted it for a moment.”

He laughed. And then they became aware that the background noise they’d tuned out when they were playing was not just background noise and they in fact had an audience. Upward of thirty students were staring up at them and shouting enthusiastically, though their words were whipped away by the wind. Minerva and Albus looked at each other, then gave in and descended slowly to be mobbed by their ‘fans’. Apparently they’d just put on quite a show. Or possibly it was just the shock that _teachers_ were capable of doing something so human and normal as play _Quidditch_ , since most children tended to not think of them as anything outside their teacher role. They only managed to escape when the warning bell went to call everyone back to the castle.

Albus and Minerva walked more slowly in the wake of the fleeing students. “Adding to your legend?” she asked teasingly.

“And to yours,” he shot back, smiling. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good,” she said in surprise after a moment’s thought. Her nervous tension was gone, the jitters of adrenaline was gone, and now she just felt as though she’d had a good Quidditch workout and was ready to face the rest of her day with equanimity.

“Excellent,” he said with a self-satisfied smugness that made her chuckle and smack him on the shoulder. He rubbed his shoulder and pouted at her. “Really, Professor McGonagall, is that how you thank everyone who offers you assistance?”

“Only you,” she assured him.

“Ah, well, at least I know you must be feeling better if you are once again resorting to physical violence. Would you care to join me for a run around the lake before dinner? I do find physical activity to be the best way to calm down after such a day.”

“Yes, all right,” she decided. “As long as you swear we won’t have an audience this time!”

He chuckled. “I promise to make us as invisible as human magic possibly can. Do you want me to take your broomstick?”

She glanced down at the stick in her hands, then shrugged and handed it over.

“Enjoy your last classes,” he said. “I know you will be just as brilliant in them as you have been this morning.”

“Flattery, Albus, will get you nowhere.”

“Not even an opponent for chess this evening?”

“ _Flattery_ won’t.”

He stopped and turned to her, executing a courtly bow. “My lady, I would be most pleased if you would do me the honour of accompanying me this evening for a game of chess.”

She curtseyed. “Good sir, I would be most delighted.”

He beamed at her happily and she rolled her eyes, sweeping forward. “Get to your class, Albus. And look after my broomstick or I’ll give you the bill for its replacement.”

“My dear Minerva, your broom is as safe with me as if it lay in the deepest vault of Gringotts.”

“It had better be.”

He just chuckled at her warning. “I shall see you after class, Minerva.” He turned to walk up his corridor.

“Albus!”

He stopped and turned to look at her enquiringly. She pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek. “Thank you for looking after me.” She walked away, leaving him standing there, stunned, in the middle of the hall.

Minerva smiled.

_Fin_


End file.
